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vllergy · 15 days

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relations & afflictions

random allergy fic, 2.3k, old ocs of mine jin-young is a cop (he has the kink because of who i am as a person) vesen is a big tall hot alien assassin aliens and humans are working together but it's still pretty new and things are awkward jin and vesen 100% fall in love with each other eventually that's basically all you need to know

Something’s been bothering Vesen’s nose ever since they left the warehouse. His insistence on delaying the inevitable is only driving both the offending appendage, and Jin by extension, insane.

There’s a lot Jin has yet to figure out about his alien partner. Human and Kheelen relations are touch and go as it is, and the fact that they’ve paired officers up like this for police work is a shoddy effort at best to keep the peace. There’s just still too much they don’t understand about one another for anything to go smoothly. Case in point—until today, Jin didn’t even know if the Kheelen could sneeze.

It’s not that they look all that different. Bipedal, humanoid, all the same parts and facial features—Kheelen just do everything more elegant and longer it seems like. Even now Vesen has to hunch over slightly to fit all the willowy six foot eight of himself inside Jin’s squad car, and he’s one of the shorter ones of his species. Vesen’s face is similarly angular and lean, almost feline, with deep black eyes and a nose that angles regally off the front of his profile. Jin has always thought the Kheelen look how high fashion used to think supermodels ought to look—distinctly alien, a little off putting, but still undeniably beautiful.

It helps that their skin comes in almost every shade of the rainbow. Vesen’s is a soft lilac, though you wouldn’t catch Jin admitting it. Nor should he even be thinking about how Vesen’s slightly-leaner-than-human nostrils are a little darker purple at the moment as they wriggle and flex with what looks like blatant irritation.

Thankfully, Vesen’s attitude keeps most amorous thoughts of Jin’s to a minimum. The guy’s taciturn, stoic, and doesn’t really give a shit about anyone but himself. He’s got a superiority complex too, but no one at the precinct seems to care. Everyone’s dealing with their own Kheelen partners and the messy diplomatic shitstorms they tend to kick up. It’s just unlucky Jin got the biggest fucking prick of the bunch.

He’s good at what he does though. They call him the Wraith. Jin has never seen anyone move like Vesen does, not even other Kheelen. At the very least, he’s not going to die with him as a partner.

At least, not from phaser fire. He may die from another problem entirely if the guy doesn’t stop sniffling like a leaky faucet next to him for the rest of this ride.

Jin squirms in his seat slightly and tries not to glance at Vesen out of the corner of his eye. Lean, purple forearms are braced against raised knees as the alien sits slightly crunched in the front seat. The seat is pulled all the way back but his legs are so damn long it’s impossible to make him comfortable. Jin thinks about getting the chief to requisition them some new vehicles. This is hardly fair.

Vesen’s dark silk hair is shaved down the sides of his skull and then braided across the top of his head and hung down his back, the braid extending all the way to the bottom of his spine. Self-consciously, Jin runs a hand through his own dark hair. Regulation cut. No frills. Pretty underwhelming all things considered.

His fingers come away dusty when he sets his hand back on the wheel. He frowns at his fingertips, rubbing them together slightly. The warehouse they raided today looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Maybe longer. He’s going to need a full decontamination shower after this—

“h-nNDT!”

His stomach drops. But coolly, he slides his eyes over to his passenger and finds Vesen as relaxed as ever. He’d stifled with barely a sound or movement at all. Only a slight irritated blink gives him away as he recovers

Jin could ignore it, and probably should. But the words are off his lips before he has a chance to stop them.

“I didn’t even know you could sneeze.”

He can feel the simmering fury radiating from the seat beside him as Vesen turns his head. Dark eyes bore into the side of his skull. Jin knows that look without even having to see it—imperious, infuriated.

Then, flatly in the dark baritone he’s come to loathe, Vesen responds, “Why would we not?”

Jin shrugs, “I dunno. Your biology is different from ours in a ton of different ways, I thought maybe you guys just didn’t.”

Vesen sniffs softly. The sound lashes a current of electricity up Jin’s spine.

“That is preposterous.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Jin concedes, “You have noses and you breathe air, so it stands to reason.”

“You—hh?” Vesen pauses, gasps and turns his head away, pressing his knuckle to his septum and flinching into another soundless stifle. He recovers with a dry sniffle and swears in his own language. Jin hasn’t picked up the translation just yet, but he understands the intent just fine.

“Bless you,” he says, and feels a certain thrill at saying it. Especially to Vesen, who by all accounts probably is taking this all as a knock to his pride.

As if on cue, the alien gives him a reproachful look. “What?” he snaps.

Jin waves a hand, “It’s a human saying…well, in some regions. When someone sneezes.”

“Foolish.”

“What do the Kheelen say when someone sneezes?”

“Why are you so interested, Jin-young?”

Jin’s cheeks flush slightly. The question is an honest one, but it’s said with just the right amount of judgment that it feels like it’s getting too close to the truth. He clears his throat and shrugs his shoulders.

“Just making conversation. We’re supposed to be learning about each other, right?”

There’s a long pause. The inside of the car is tense. Finally, Vesen sniffs lightly and sighs.

“We do not say anything. It is not a…common occurrence.”

He says this with a bit of embarrassment, which piques Jin’s interest tenfold. No wonder he hadn’t been sure if the Kheelen even possessed this biological function—he’s worked with enough of them for long enough now he was bound to have seen it happen at least once. But it’s never come up before. Not until this at least.

Trying to keep the angle of the conversation on scholarly curiosity rather than selfish, Jin tilts his head.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Vesen doesn’t answer for a moment, and when Jin looks over he sees why. The alien is caught with his eyes half-lidded, mouth parted slightly, a shuddering breath quaking under his vest. He shakes his head and suddenly bows it, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth. A very human pose, Jin thinks, despite only having four fingers on each hand.

“hH’DDIISSShhyue!”

Vesen rises from his hands instantly and doesn’t give Jin time to bless him, or even react, “We are a very hardy species. Unlike humans, it takes a great deal to afflict our sensibilities.”

Just to be a dick, Jin blesses him anyway. Vesen cuts him a watery glare before Jin continues, struggling to keep his eyes on the road, “But…something is clearly uh…afflicting you now, right?”

Vesen sniffs pointedly, “It appears so.”

Jin’s boiling alive under his uniform all of a sudden. He knows he should stop fanning the fire but his mouth is moving faster than his brain, and he can’t help but keep asking questions. The slightly stuffy quality to Vesen’s deep voice as this progresses isn’t helping things either. He white-knuckles the steering wheel.

“I wonder what it is,” he hums, “Are you allergic to anything?”

“No.” Flat, unmoved, typical Vesen. Jin almost rolls his eyes.

“Then, are you sick?”

“I am not ill.”

“Then I’m at a loss, bud."

“It is not your concern, Jin-young,” Vesen assures him, but in that slightly dismissive way that seems to suggest it never was to begin with.

That might have been it, and for a few moments Jin thinks it’s over. But after a lengthy pause, he hears Vesen take a clipped breath beside him. Then, he lowers his face slowly into his hands once more and Jin tenses, waiting for the inevitable. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the alien’s massive shoulders rising with a swell of breath before—

“hhH-rrSCHH!” Stronger and harsher than the one that came before it. Vesen lifts his head, thinking he’s finished, but is taken by two itchy sounding ones almost immediately after. He doesn’t bother lowering his head again and merely sneezes freely, misting his own palms as he shudders into them. “Chhssyu! ccHSH!”

“Okay, see, it is kind of my concern,” Jin reasons, and leans over to reach past Vesen’s knees for the glove box, “Because you’re my partner and now I’m officially worried.”

Vesen isn’t listening. He’s lost in the throes of whatever it has meant to finally give into this tickle that’s been plaguing him since they left the warehouse. His hands still cupped in front of him, his upper lip curls back slightly as he gears up for another. Jin unlocks the glove box, the back of his hand drifting against Vesen’s knee for a moment.

“Sorry,” he says, his heart pounding.

Vesen responds in kind with a stuttered gasp and another powerful sneeze.

“hH? hhH! ehH’HDJSshoo!”

He wrenches to the side at the last second to try and direct it against the window but Jin still feels the spray of it against his forearm and nearly loses control of the fucking car. He manages to somehow keep them alive and also force a wad of napkins into Vesen’s hands.

“Here, Vesen.”

Vesen gathers the crumpled paper and presses it to his dripping nose. He blows hard—Jin didn’t know they did that either—which seems to help just for a moment.

“I’m gonna get you back to headquarters, okay?” Jin says, trying not to let his voice shake. He’s almost certain Vesen can hear his heart pounding but he’s hoping he’s a little too distracted by the itch to notice.

Vesen nods blearily and gets one liquid sniffle in before something sets him off again. He holds the sodden napkins just slightly away from him and sneezes against them in short bursts. “aeh’ESSCH! chSSCH! t’SHH!”

“Jesus, you gonna make it?” Jin asks. Am I?

“Focus on your driving, Jin-young,” Vesen says evenly and dabs at his nose, “There is no need for alarm.”

Ah, good. So Vesen can hear his heartbeat, but he thinks it’s anxiety, not anything else. Good. Jin can roll with that, at least. Interspecies relations are hard enough without adding weird kinks to the mix.

“Are you sure? Because—“

“hH’RRSsch!”

“You sound like—“

“hHuh’IISH! ISHH! hh-Hh?…”Vesen pauses on the last one, hanging in limbo with his gaze flickering on the horizon. Jin waits for him, watching his throat bob as the urge takes him.

“hhH’yyIISSHAh!”

Vesen cups that one into his palm, though it does nothing to lessen the volume.

Jin swallows, “Wow. Because you sound like you’re getting worse.”

“A passing ihhritation,” Vesen says, somehow managing to sound cold while his voice wavers.

In other words: drop it.

But Jin can already see his face twitching around the need to sneeze again. It’s five more minutes back to the station and god, if he can even get out of his squad car to walk in it’ll be a fucking miracle. Either way, he’s in trouble. They’re supposed to watch out for their Kheelen counterparts in the field. Have each other’s backs. Bringing one back sneezing his goddamn head off seems like the opposite of that.

“Should we open a window?” Jin asks.

Vesen nods through his next sneeze and fumbles for the controls on the side panel as he snaps forward.

“aeh’eESSCHUu!”

Jin gets the controls going on his own side for him and both windows peel open. City air streams through the car. It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s not terrible either. Jin grew up here so it’s part and parcel of his being. He can’t imaging what it must be like for the Kheelen. Breathing sweet, fresh air every day of their own planet to now…this. Maybe that’s why Vesen in particular is so sensitive. Or maybe he’s overthinking it.

A tired, weak sneeze is directed out towards the open air and into Vesen’s curled fist as the alien leans to the window. “hh’iIShoo!”

“Bless. Any better?” Jin asks.

“It smells of smog and metal,” Vesen complains and slides his finger under his nose, wicking moisture away petulantly.

“Everyone’s a critic.”

They ride the rest of the way in relative quiet, Vesen with his head out the window like a dog and Jin lowering his body temperature to acceptable levels. By the time they get to the precinct he’s actually able to stand up and get out of the squad car and can feel everything below the waist.

Just in time for Vesen to come around the side of the car and pin him by the shoulder. Jin has to look up at him because he’s so tall, and his hand feels like a vice against him. Vesen could snap him like a twig if he wanted. Something he’s fond of reminding him.

“Tell anyone of what transpired here, Jin-young, and you will not live long enough to regret it,” Vesen hisses at him, pointed teeth flashing.

It would be intimidating were it not for the inadvertent sniffle that follows as Vesen backs off. His eyes grow slightly hazy even as they try to bore into Jin’s and his hand loosens on his shoulder.

“Aw, c’mon big guy, one more?” Jin asks, eyes flashing.

Fury sparks in Vesen’s face before the need overtakes him entirely. His expression crumples as he releases Jin to cover his nose and mouth with his hand and flinches into it.

“h’NNDXT!”

A full body shudder runs the length of Jin’s body. He can feel his lower belly melting again.

He smiles, “Bless you.”

Vesen growls and shoves at Jin with his opposite hand as he sniffles in recovery. He bares his teeth at him.

“Be quiet,” he says before turning away and heading toward the precinct steps.

“I think we bonded today!” Jin calls after him, “We’re making progress! Pioneers of human and Kheelen relations, you and me!”

#i was trying to link this to the ask and realized i couldn't find it anymore???#idk if i archived it or what and don't remember but its seemingly #vanished so #reposting for prosperity #snz kink #snzfic #my ocs #vesjin #if anyone finds the OG let me know im so confused lmao #ANYWAY THANK U FOR THE BEAUTIFUL ASK IM GOING TO BE RIDING THIS HIGH ALL DAY!!!!!

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vllergy · 15 days

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Hi!! I just read your Vesen and Jin fic and oh my god?!? I’ve reread it like six times and I’ll probably reread it 1000 more. I know you said they were old ocs but I was wondering if you were planning on writing anything more? Or if there were more old fics somewhere? No pressure at all, just absolutely loving any alien sneeze I can get.

THIS IS SO NICE!!! please i was fully convinced like 2 people had read that and that my stupid little idiots were lost to the sands of time (which like to be clear is fine i only ever write to scratch an itch and if people like it, cool! if not, also cool!) but !!!!! TO HEAR SOMEONE LOVED IT ENOUGH TO READ IT NOT JUST ONCE BUT MORE THAN ONCE??? my little heart is bursting right now you dont understand thank you so much this made my whole day / year / existence

weirdly i do not have anything else written about them at least kink related because they kind of just exist in a sphere outside it until they dont lol but i would definitely love to write more of them! i just haven't had any stellar ideas lately or gotten the bug yk but knowing someone out there is as weak for alien snz as i am has reignited my flame (also if u ever have any requests for them please let a bitch know i thrive on validation ok)

#this is so sweet thank you so much #also i think my first ever official ask #you are the actual sweetest #thank you for loving my idiot children #and aliens #because there is not enough alien loving out here

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vllergy · 2 months

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F L I C K E R || H//azbin H//otel

lil s//taticm//oth because i'm going insane kink!v/al because reasons

Val's lower arms come to rest on Vox's thighs. The tech mogul repositions himself along Val's hips which earns him something between a grunt and a growl. The moth's upper arms reach up, one hand curling around a lean shoulder and the other pulling at the lapel of his blazer to yank him back into a kiss. As Vox leans in, his screen flickers just slightly. It's slight. Barely noticeable if you weren't paying attention. But Val is always paying attention. His tongue glides up the flat, smooth surface, feeling the strange static hum on his tastebuds. "Mm, trouble, amorcito?" he asks as his tongue snakes back into his mouth.

Vox peeks a red eye open, "Huh?"

Val's smile sharpens. "Nothing."

He pulls Vox closer by the hips, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise. He feels like starting a fight. It'll make this so much sweeter. Vox is always so much sexier when he's on edge.

Shoving back, he yanks his head away from Vox's mouth and narrows his carmine eyes.

"You're distracted," he accuses.

Vox blinks. He looks surprised, then his expression flattens into annoyance.

"The fuck? No I'm not."

"You are. You think I don't know?"

There's that flicker again. It's a little more pronounced this time. A whisper of static around the edges of his screen, as if someone just gave the side of his box a good whack. Vox is oblivious to it, or at least he's pretending to be. Arousal pools in Val's gut.

"I have plenty of other people I could be fucking, Vox."

"Why do you always fucking do this?" Vox complained, "I was just getting into it."

"Then why are you doing that?"

Another wobble of his screen. It passes in an instant.

"Doing what?!"

Val scrapes a gold plated claw down the edge of his casing. Again, the screen twitches and this time, it comes with a soft, uneven inhale on Vox's part.

"Hhih..."

"You're all...glitchy," Val grins.

Vox wrenches out of the path of his hand and recovers, "Fuck off, no I'm not. Are we doing this or can I get back to work?"

Val leaned back into the chair, smug. "That depends." "On what?" Vox snapped.

"If you're going to just get it over with and sneeze already."

Vox's hypnotic eye went wide and crazed for a moment, the other tightening in clear aggravation.

"I'm not--" "Oh, but you are," Val murmured, dropping his voice low, "I know you, baby."

As if enticed by the mere suggestion, Vox's screen flickered again. This time, he acknowledged it with a slight twist of his expression. He blinked hard and shook his head. Val could hear his fans whirring in earnest.

One of his hands went up the sinuous curve of Vox's waist. He felt his ribs expanding in his palm. "Hiih..hhh..." Vox's screen began to fade with his breath, winking out as he slowly lost control.

"Mmm, I thought so," Val grinned.

Vox's screen went completely black before he whipped to the side with a face full of grey, crackling static and--

"H’AEHHZZSCH'ah!"

"Hey," Val murmured as he watched Vox's expression slowly filter back onto his screen, his pixelated eyes squinting in itchy limbo. Val grabbed the side of his face, turning the Overlord towards him with a forceful tug. "Don't turn away from me."

Vox gasped, planting a hand in Val's chest to try and put some distance between them as his head snapped down with a poorly contained second sneeze.

"hH’NGXtssh!"

"And what have I told you about holding back?"

"For fuuuhcks saake, Val," Vox managed to roll his eyes as his screen glowed erratically.

Val pulled him closer, listening to his fans working overtime, the whine of his internal processors trying to dispel the irritant. There was one heavy inhale, and then another. Vox's chest pressed against his desperately.

"Ghh...hg..."

As much as he wanted to be close, he enjoyed the show far too much to miss the front row seat. Val leaned back once more and watched hungrily as Vox's expression snapped and popped with stray tendrils of wayward electricity.

Finally, he gave in, sneezing freely into Val's lap.

"eH'HTZ҉Z҉S҉H҉IEW!" The power in the building whined as it overloaded and filled every room with blinding light. Somewhere overhead, a lightbulb popped. Third time this fucking month.

Vox groaned in the aftermath. His expression returned to his screen, slightly dazed, undoubtedly annoyed.

"So sneezy," Val praised him his arms pulling the other Overload close once more as he sniffled scratchy, static sounds into his ear.

"Fuck you," Vox muttered in a congested voice. But he melted into Val's touch, rubbing the flat surface of his screen along his shoulder for some relief.

"Are you done?"

"Think so." "Shame."

#the hyperfixation has hit #why do i want the tv to sneeze?#idk i'd like the answers too #i didnt ask for this #h/azbin #dedicated to the greats that came before me #and the discord yall are real ones #going so insane idek the ship names #ty for the help omg #s//taticm//oth #i’m usually better at this i swear

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vllergy · 2 months

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For @feverishfatale ✨

#in a normal voice #he is the love of my life #this is GORGEOUS

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vllergy · 4 months

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ok hear me out i love a post-shower fit like idk pick your fav to torture and he's just gotten out of the shower, has a towel wrapped around his waist (slut), the mirror is all foggy, there's so much STEAM

it's probably morning and he's about to get ready for the day which means like the usual teeth brushing, hair product, shaving, whatever but as soon as he steps out of the shower-- sneeze

ok no big deal? maybe it was the change in temperature. warm shower to cold bathroom. it happens, right? but then he's drying his hair and there's another, and another and it folds him in half

so now it's a THING. is he allergic to his new shampoo? did all the steam loosen up a bunch of congestion from a cold? who knows take your pick but whatever it is, it's becoming a Thing

(bonus points if s/o with the kink has caught on by now and is poking their head in like? uh? everything ok?) your fav continues on, determined. snuffling, sniffing, rubbing at his nose. he wipes a circle in the fogged up mirror to see himself as if looking at his face might give him a clue about what's setting him off, but all he sees is his expression crumpling up before he sneezes again

and it's just relentless. he thinks it'll taper off after a while but it just doesn't. trying to do his hair, wash his face, put on deodorant, every few seconds he's just waylaid by another sneeze. it's one of those slow but persistent fits that just will not leave him alone

also it's kind of defeated the purpose of a shower to begin with because now his face is a mess and he has to keep blowing his nose to keep ahead of it, he's leaking like a faucet, he's probably flushed from just the sheer amount of sneezes

eventually he gives up on the morning routine entirely and just sits on the edge of the tub with a handful of tissues and decides to just sneeze it out. shuddering, exhausted sneezes by that point, the ones that fold him up and even make one foot come up off the floor as he crunches in on himself

he's completely dry by now but still in just a towel, has not even made it to clothes yet. bathroom is completely de-fogged. how much time has passed? he has no idea. when he's finally done he feels like he just ran a marathon, and probably needs another shower

#i have so many characters i think about for this ok its endless #snz kink #snzblr #snz thoughts #snz things

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vllergy · 4 months

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There’s something about a person sneezing softly throughout the day, so unobtrusively that no one really notices how frequent it is. It’s just a soft “—tchu…” here and there, until it finally clicks in someone’s brain that this is like the 15th time. And suddenly it’s so obvious the person is sick—they even LOOK sick, but their symptoms were so subtle that it slipped under the radar for who knows how long

#screaming about this actually #this is consuming me

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vllergy · 4 months

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Happy birthday, @waterfallofspace!! Figured it was about time I drew this guy after falling in love with his new design — and with your wonderfully indulgent fics as well! Here's the one that specifically inspired this!

By the way, did you know you're such a sweet person to talk to? Because you are!! I hope the happiness you spread finds its way back to you tenfold! ^^

If you like my drawings, and are willing and able to do so, please consider commissioning me, pledging to my Patreon, or donating through ko-fi ☕! You're not obliged to, but every bit helps to keep me living decently and I really do appreciate it!

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

#what a SWEETIE

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vllergy · 4 months

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"you should be at the club" *I* should be underneath a man while he's helplessly sneezing actually.

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vllergy · 5 months

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Going through my 100+ drafts and deciding what horn posts get to see the light of day. This one is a couple of years old, expanding on another post I made about someone being Very Itchy while unable or unwilling to do anything about it.

2nd person POV; reader is a makeup artist tasked with making a hayfever-ridden actor look somewhat presentable for the cameras.

✨ 🖌️

—-

You know you have your work cut out for you the moment they walk in the door. All it takes is one look at their face and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a sympathetic grimace. Pallor, dark circles, that vaguely heavy, puffy look a person gets from lack of sleep - basic stuff, nothing you and your brushes can’t deal with. All in an hour’s work.

Their nose, however. Their nose might actually present something of a challenge. Especially if they’re still… ah. So they are.

“Morning”, you say, deliberately leaving out the “good” part of the greeting because they’re evidently not having one of those.

Keep reading

#feral barking #this is goooooooood #this is EXCELLENT #this is art actually #how many times is too many times to read this asking for a friend #why cant we all get paid to do this

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vllergy · 5 months

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by virtue of conspiracy

i’ve gotta send many many accolades to those who came before me, especially garnet’s fic from ten years ago (happy anniversary to our bible) and the headcanon of him being prone to top-heavy and drawn out sneezing fits. and thanks to all of the levi ackerman hornys of the past present and future :)

tags/warnings: common cold, character w sneeze kink pov, voyeurism, praise kink, authority stuff, discussion of contagion, secret caretaking, sexual themes, military vernacular other notes: no spoilers in here!! implied eruri (erwin/levi ship) hehe

Petra was finally beginning to relax when that annoying Oruo Bozad mentioned her esteemed captain’s name. It prompted a return of the all-over rigidity that she still had yet to shake, a remnant of the imposter syndrome anxiously tacked to her gut like sticky jelly. This morning’s recon meeting was supposed to be a good opportunity to prove herself worthy of recruitment, but instead became her foil before it even began.

“Think the captain will notice if I take a sip before he gets back?” was what Oruo asked, half-standing and reaching across the table toward Captain Levi’s abandoned teacup with a smugness in his waggling brow.

“Probably not,” came Eld Jinn’s response, matching a fraction of Oruo’s playfulness. “But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Huh?” Oruo froze in place, fingers still bent in a clutch of air. “Why’s that?”

“He caught a nasty cold while we were up north last week.” Eld delivered his sentence in a faux-whisper, but it blared brightly in Petra’s ears. “Don’t tell anyone, but he’s a little off his game.”

While Eld winked at the recipients of his incredible news, his index finger shushed vertically against a grin, Petra’s stomach dipped as she fought the temptation to fantasize with glee. She tried to tamp it down by scolding herself: What kind of person celebrates when their superior isn’t feeling well? Besides, a nasty cold wasn’t exactly quantifiable. It could mean all sorts of things. A bad cough, a tension headache with a twinge of malaise, a finicky temperature wracking him with chills overnight and leaving him coated in sweat by midday. All of them unfortunately exciting to imagine, but not…

Not for Petra to ogle at, not now and not ever. Those symptoms were reserved for him to handle in private, away from subordinates who wouldn’t and shouldn’t interrupt the captain’s rest or disrespect him with a bizarre manifestation of lust. Petra wasn’t sure she could handle that even if she were allowed.

“No shit? I thought he was tougher than that,” Oruo replied, slowly withdrawing with a thoughtful frown.

Gunther scoffed in defense of the captain and said, “Everyone gets sick, newbie. Winter or not.”

“I’m surprised none of you heard him last night,” Eld continued. “Guy was sneezing up a storm some time after midnight; you could practically hear him through the walls.”

The report instantly traveled in a river of lightning down both sides of Petra’s neck, all the way down into her groin and pulsating hot and hideous between her legs. She was hit with the marvelous, forbidden memories of witnessing Captain Levi sneezing inconsequentially in the past, just a few times since she’d joined his squad. Through the walls must have been an exaggeration, considering that Eld’s quarters and schedule were closer to the captain’s than her own.

Petra had never felt so resentful of a good night’s sleep.

“He’s still coming to the meeting, isn’t he?” she asked, eyes on his teacup, the absence of steam suggesting uncharacteristic abandonment. “Is that wise?”

“Can’t really miss one of these,” Gunther told her. “Commander Smith will be here too, which means it’s gotta be something important.”

Shit. Seriously? Of all the times to make her debut. Petra scowled, and it must have come off more nervous than brooding, because Oruo patted her roughly on the back.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he reassured uselessly. “He’s a lot more collaborative than you’d expect.”

“I know. I’ve met him before,” Petra said, then realized her mistake. Her sour expression would look suspicious if she denied her anxiety, so she added, “Oh, but never in this context. I’m just hoping I make a good impression.”

Or at least a neutral one, she hoped. Whatever would keep her from wandering her eye with misplaced desire or reacting too keenly with a blessing, or even fretting over her superior inappropriately out of a natural instinct to be kind. She resolved to try and access her most disciplined reserves and follow the lead of her peers upon his arrival.

The topic changed after that and Petra socialized with all her might as her libido simmered threateningly beneath her artificial composure. Commander Smith was arriving from elsewhere, but Captain Levi must have been somewhere in the building. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, keeping an ear out for one of his supposedly wall-penetrating sneezes or damn it, even a tickly little cough or two just to confirm that none of this was a trick.

All four of them stood at attention when the door swung open, and Petra held her breath before recognizing the height of the figure belonging to a squad leader and not her ill-stricken boss.

Alongside her fellow soldiers, Petra sat back down. She greeted Hange, who returned her smile before squinting at the captain’s forgotten teacup, bending down and peering close.

“Did you guys miss Levi this morning?” she said as she straightened back up with the cup in her hand, rocking it from side to side until the dark liquid nearly splashed over its porcelain rim.

Petra blinked, steeling herself for the fresh intel. “What do you mean?”

“He only drinks this stuff at night when he’s sick,” Hange explained, then shrugged and pulled up a chair of her own a few seats away. “It’s a basic medicinal blend. I keep telling him it doesn’t do much for a cold, but hey, what do I know?”

Probably a lot, Petra thought, but Oruo beat her banter out with his curiosity and asked, “What’s in it? I know a bit about medicine, myself.”

Before she could help herself, Petra said, “You do not.”

“Dried up domestic herbs,” Hange answered. “Mint and rosemary, last I checked. A little bit of ginger if he can swing it.”

“Waste of goods, if you ask me,” Eld commented, “when you’re too stuffed up to taste something that doesn’t even work.”

“Oh, it’s not for the taste,” Hange said. “He says it helps his throat, but it’s mostly placebo compared to actual medicine.”

“Why not just use honey and lemon?” Petra said. Certainly they had some in the kitchen. She knew it to be tried and true, a staple when when bitter Decembers brought dry air past the walls and into her childhood home.

Another misguided fantasy floated past her aching mind as Petra recounted all of the other remedies she could suggest. She thought of guiding the captain toward a pot of boiling spices to breathe in the steam, then using a second pot to make a stew from marrow and herbs and bread. Serving it up for the sake of his strength, advising him to keep his feet warm with a salve in his socks, displaying her devotion to the well-being of her team through more than combat alone.

She was obviously getting ahead of herself, but a honey-lemon tonic would be a start. She’d remain platonic and professional, properly confined within her rank, showing compassion through action as most soldiers do.

“Because we have shit for a budget,” came a sudden voice so unrecognizable that if not for the cadence, Petra would have assumed it belonged to an intruder. Her eyes snapped up as she startled, her muscles locking up as the event’s gravity hit all at once. “Mint grows like a weed. It’s literally dirt-cheap.”

The arrival of Captain Levi. And his cold.

While she had spent the past several minutes dawdling anxiously in her own imagination, Petra hadn’t actually been preparing herself for what it would mean to confront all of this in real time. If only she could freeze the clock long enough to take it in and figure out what to do with the sight of him.

Luckily for her, it was kind of underwhelming. It reminded Petra of the first time she’d met him up close. Just as the captain’s unimposing stature and boyish cheeks contraindicated one’s visage of his title as a prodigious killer, his appearance at present gave little indication of the state of his health. For the most part, he looked the same as always, dressed primly in a fitted vest with his hair clean and dry.

Really, though, what had she been expecting? A woolen blanket around his shoulders? A glass thermometer in his mouth? Ice pack held to his head, nose and eyes dripping freely onto chapped skin glowing with the pink flush of fever? Stop it.

Petra could still appreciate that he tended to look a little peaky by default, possibly rendering any illness unrecognizable upon sight alone.

“What a doozy, Levi, where the hell’d you pick that up?” Hange asked with the same kind of freakish delight that Petra was feeling inside. “You sound horrible. Did it start with a scratchy throat again, or something worse?”

Again? thought Petra foolishly, as though it would be a surprise to think an adult man has caught cold more than once during his military career. A thrill tumbled down her core regardless.

Captain Levi rolled his eyes, the movement divulging a pink edge fraying at the haunting gray that normally shadowed beneath them. Subtle, but telling. The dryness was getting to him after all.

“Put that down,” he replied in lieu of an answer, nodding toward her hand, “and stop touching my shit. You’ll infect your entire squad and possibly mine as well.”

“What is this, only day two? You must be taking it hard if you’re already forgetting to put your things away.” It was hard to tell whether they were bantering or simply speaking past each other. Hange turned to the rest of the squad. “Have you guys ever seen him with a cold before? It’s cute. He’s just a teensy bit less sharp, and then he gets grouchy because he’s worried someone’ll bench him for it.”

In pursuit of control over the room, Captain Levi addressed them too.

“Erwin is on his way,” he announced, then cleared his throat. “You’re going to be briefed on recent forestry changes west of the outer wall. ODM gear works differently depending on the subspecies, so try and take notes for yourselves unless you’ve got an eidetic memory.”

He was so fabulously congested that the group needed to take a moment to process the bumbly distortion of his consonants and translate them accordingly. Most would be embarrassed in his place, but the captain only looked annoyed, like it was everyone else’s fault that his sinuses were so irritated that they’d swallowed up his access to the alphabet.

“Paper’s hoarded in the cabinet there,” he added flatly. “First drawer on the right.”

With the eagerness of a child rushing beneath the tree on Christmas morning, Petra volunteered to retrieve the cheap watermarked notebooks and pass them around the table. It would at least direct her energy somewhere useful, burning off the heat she’d been accumulating so intensely that she feared she’d soon set her wooden chair ablaze.

So she stood, noting the sharp brilliance of the world around her in a perception that was usual for a state of manic arousal. It was a five-second task, but to Petra it lasted the spiritual equivalent of several hours.

Step by step, vivid moment by vivid moment, Petra walked four paces toward the cabinet. She could hear her own footsteps and see motes of sawdust in the air.

She pulled on the handle of the correct drawer, metal cooling on her palm, and she reached in to grab what she came for and found blank space instead.

She double checked to make sure, but there was only one drawer on the right. Either the captain was wrong or Petra was, and when she was about to turn around and apologize with a request for more clarity, Captain Levi became fleetingly unavailable and brought Petra’s cognizance down with him.

“AESCH-yue!”

The first sneeze came before Petra could spring her hungry gaze upon him, a striking sound that depicted the hallmarks of his situation. The strength in the launch of his voice, the rich vigor in the release, and the deflating ending, anemic in pitch as though it were an involuntary afterthought. Thick, expressive, and tired. The kind of sneeze Petra could appreciate with few exceptions, harsher than his usual with an erotically miserable dampness.

Empty-handed, she looked back and sponged up the scene: Captain Levi with his upper body swiveled away from the group and burrowed into his sleeve, facing in Petra’s direction with his eyes shut and lips parted. She held her tongue in wait for the second round.

“IESCH-yu! HAET’SH-yue!”

And the third, delivered roughly into the tight borders of a bent elbow. If there had been a fourth, Petra was worried her knees would buckle.

“Bless you,” she said quickly, down to business, keeping her objective in the forefront of her mind as the captain blinked himself upright. “Um, Captain, are you sure it’s the door on the right? This one’s—”

“IESCH–ue! What?”

Oh. Oops.

Knees steady, Petra waited for a confirmation that he’d for good. Captain Levi sniffled and made eye contact with her, expectant and earnestly impatient.

“The drawer’s, uh, it’s empty, so…”

“So try another one,” he said, sniffling again before going to his breast pocket for a handkerchief. Weeks ago, his tone would have made Petra cringe, but she was quickly learning to read between the lines of his curtness: I recruited you myself. Don’t insult the both of us by asking me to hold your hand.

“Only four?” derailed Hange, pouting with an air of offense. “You got a couple more in there?”

“Get your kicks from someone else,” the captain said. Petra allowed herself to feel disappointed as she resumed her task, shutting the barren drawer and looting through the set on the left.

“It’s just like Hange said,” lamented Oruo. “A cold really does mess you up. You couldn’t even remember where the supplies were.”

Petra found the notebooks and hurried the stack of them over to the table.

“Or somebody moved them,” Captain Levi replied, dignified even as he squelched moisture from his nose with a pull of the handkerchief around his nostrils. He made eye contact with Petra again as she set the books down. “Thank you.”

Petra nodded and took her seat, keeping busy in preparing her station with a sneakily vigilant ear. The captain’s breaths were even but came through his mouth, and he had yet to return his handkerchief to his pocket. She reveled in the occasional movement of white in her periphery, taking care not to embarrass him by watching him tend to his runny nose.

He did give in with a sniffle every once in a while, each time sounding full and dissatisfied. That handkerchief wouldn’t last.

The rest of them chattered mildly in wait until the commander arrived unceremoniously in a glow of brawny grace. At the head of the table, next to Captain Levi, he looked about three meters tall.

“Good morning,” he said to the room.

Petra returned his pleasantry in tandem with her comrades. The commander held up a palm to put them at ease, then he sat down and surveyed the area.

Indiscreetly, he stalled in the captain’s direction and said, “Your tea’s stale.”

Captain Levi slid his eyes over to the commander and said nothing. The two of them held each other’s consciousness, exchanging one of those looks that made witnesses feel like trespassers. It lasted only a second.

“Has everyone eaten breakfast?” the commander asked. Even Petra could tell it was calculated, but she contributed her own yes sir to the group’s disciplined chorus. The commander nodded and replied, “Good. We may be here for a while, and it won’t do any good to try and push through the discomfort of an empty stomach.”

Or a sore throat, thought Petra. Ouch.

“Captain Levi,” the commander prompted next. The captain regarded him blankly.

“What?”

“Have you assigned a scribe for today’s briefing?”

Unless Petra had missed something, the answer was no, and Captain Levi’s admission would count against him as an oversight. If she spoke out of turn, perhaps she could save him.

“Sir,” she volunteered, “I was—”

But the captain spoke right past her.

“Gunther’s job this time,” he said, sniffed, then looked toward him. “You up for it?”

“Yes, sir,” Gunther answered, pen at the ready. Petra echoed his position, waiting to be scolded for insolence.

Instead, the captain said her name. He sounded bored.

“Yes?” Petra replied immediately.

“Take the opportunity to practice taking minutes. I’ll look over your…” He squinted, blinked. Petra’s chest went tight. “Over your notes later. Don’t copy off of Gunther.”

“Oh, is this your first briefing with the Levi Squad?” interrupted Hange. “He’s particular about reports like he is with everything. Don’t worry, I’ll go nice and slow for you.”

“Don’t even try it,” the captain said.

“We should get started,” declared Commander Smith. He nodded toward Hange’s assembly of materials. “I’m here mostly to supervise and add contemporary details if necessary. Unless something changes in the next few days, we’re planning to expedite your squad toward a specific area in the far west.”

“There have been a lot of changes, to be fair,” Hange added. She pushed a crisp botanical flier close to the center of the table, and everyone but the captain leaned in closer to get a better look. “There’s been an overgrowth of Silver Fir near the edges of the forest, which is both good and bad. Does anyone know why? Petra, how about you?”

Petra stared at the illustration and the map above it in search of clues.

“Uh…”

“You’re giving a briefing, not a lecture,” said the captain at her rescue. “Just share the facts. Don’t bother them with games.”

“People are a lot more likely to remember facts they have to work for,” argued Hange. “No pressure, guys! So, Gunther? Any ideas?”

“Nope,” said Gunther confidently.

With a smile, Hange sighed and shook her head. “Okay, here’s a clue. There are a lot potential harvests from fir trees all year round. Oils, syrups, and nuts for example, and that’s excluding all the uses of their lumber. You’ve all been camping before; what kind of wood do you use to light a fire?”

“Whatever we can find,” said Eld. “The denser, the better.”

“Right! Well, Silver Fir is notoriously soft,” Hange continued. “So…?”

“So don’t chop it up for firewood. Got it,” Oruo said.

“I don’t think that’s what they’re getting at,” Petra said. “You’re saying it’s less likely to be stable if we rely on it for ODM, right?”

“Ooh, Petra! You’re good!” Hange said. That gave Petra a different kind of thrill, warm and enchanting on its way down to join the high from Captain Levi simmering inside of her. Petra focused on Hange, deeming this attraction much safer. “That’s part of why we’re developing some newer tech to navigate the spread. But more importantly, we’re noticing that the new growth doesn’t quite fit the criteria of any existing species.”

“I wasn’t made aware of that,” Commander Smith said. “Why are you continuing to call it Silver Fir?”

“It’s the closest presenting phenotype so far,” Hange said, “and it makes sense given the ecosystem.”

“I’m concerned about the rapid change in classification,” the commander said. “It’s misleading, and that could be dangerous. If the species is different, we’ll need to adjust the mechanics of our gear.”

“We don’t know anything for sure yet,” Hange replied, utilizing a somber tone to placate him. “I promise I’ll get to the gear thing in a second.”

Honestly, the information was fresh and interesting enough to get Petra back on the ball, taking blood from her loins and directing it back to her brain where it belonged. The topic had her feeling optimistic until Hange spoke her next sentence and shattered Petra’s focus like crushed glass.

“Botany specialists are still trying to figure out whether it’s a mutation related to titan presence or an imitation altogether, and what that would mean for us in either case,” she began innocently, and then said, “Levi, would you go ahead and sneeze already? You’re gonna drive me crazy.”

All heads and eyes and chins moved to point a humiliating spotlight at the captain, who didn’t actually appear to be struggling all that much. Petra felt wicked in the wash of her disappointment. Hange could have been teasing him, or maybe they’d all just missed a precious giveaway expression that only his closest comrades would recognize.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Captain Levi said. “Stay on topic.”

“I don’t take orders from you, either,” Hange replied, but heeded anyway with a new page on the table, this one depicting a map of an unfamiliar forest with a complicated route dotted through the middle. “All right, this is a mock-up of everything that’s sprouted so far. See how it’s denser on the outer edges?”

“Hang on,” Petra said, and was once again charmed by Hange’s regard for her; the display of patience in the way she paused. “Sorry. Is every tree here of that same new species?”

“That’s what we think, but we only have samples of wood from the border,” Hange answered. “We’re expecting that the inner flora is the same, only…”

She trailed off purposely, just in time for Levi to yield with a thorough, shuddering pair of sneezes that nearly tore through the handkerchief he clasped around his face.

The first of them cut through the room despite its cotton shield, a rushed and emphatic “EDSHyu!” with only a silent sip of air separating it from the powerful encore that followed, rocking him forward with a breathy ricochet of his voice. “EHH-JYffSH—yue!”

And that was the end of it, one-two outbursts in just as many seconds, fast and rhythmic by way of the clock but a showstopper to Petra’s mind and body.

“Atta boy,” cheered Hange. “You good now?”

“Gesundheit,” added the commander. It was pointed, implying to Petra that there was something going on between them behind the scenes. He passed his own handkerchief over without a fuss.

Captain Levi huffed and took care of the damage, grimacing as he pulled back and divulged the twitchy redness circling his nostrils. Petra spotted graphic patches of translucency in the white cloth and fought back a shiver.

With a revealing sniffle, Captain Levi accepted the commander’s fresh handkerchief. All he said was, “Thanks.”

The moment seemed to be handled, with the captain continuing to make good use of Commander Smith’s offering as Hange resumed her presentation. Petra tried very hard to learn more about the onslaught of mutant trees and how best to address them, but the longer she sat catty-corner from Captain Levi and his fading control over the throes of his body, the more her own control slipped.

To be fair, he wasn’t even pretending to pay attention. Petra could call it a bad example if she wanted to lie to herself, but it wouldn’t be fair; her job was to pick up the slack here and confirm understanding, especially because her leader certainly wouldn’t be getting the jist of it all.

For the better part of an hour, a repetitive and subtle shift in his expression gave away the magnitude of his struggle. He’d narrow his eyes with a silent, blunt rise of the chest, and then apply pressure to his nose with the handkerchief to delay his obtrusive relief. Sometimes he’d sniffle, sometimes he’d clear his throat, and he even coughed once, bowed down into his fist with his mouth closed.

Petra commenced in filling space in the conversation when she wasn’t bulleting facts down on paper, doing her best to show a wide range of diligence. She asked questions to move theories forward, she displayed her knowledge of ODM anatomy, and she volunteered strategies to employ once their squad was stationed. The others contributed too, Captain Levi included, after which Petra would grip her concentration for dear life because he really did sound sicker every time he spoke.

It took half a notebook’s worth of knowledge before he lost the battle, or maybe found it too exhausting to keep up a fight. Either way, it worked in Petra’s favor and toward her demise.

“heh—!” His brow was tight, eyes shut. “NKSH—shyu!” It squeaked painfully in his sinuses. “NKsch’ue! heh-NKSH’uh!”

He was losing steam, thready voice revealing something exhausted, like he didn’t have the stamina to keep up with the power demanded of him by each laborious sneeze. Petra wished she could order him to bed, or interrupt the meeting to salvage more tea with his comfort spices, clinical merit or not.

“Bless you,” was all she could get away with in the end. The sentiment was nearly as fun.

“Just talk around me,” he replied. “You’ll… hh’AESCH–uh! …you’ll lose your voice otherwise.”

That’s sweet, Petra thought, even if it didn’t make sense. “I’m sure I’ll be—”

“IEZSH’ue!”

“…all right,” she finished. “Bless you.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” he said, then looked the commander’s way with a terrible sniffle. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“Hmm. Why? You need a break?” asked Hange. “I’ve got one or two more pages to run through.”

“No,” he conceded. His cadence held suspicion as he rested an elbow on the table and gave a predictive order that Petra took to heart. “We’ll all last until then.”

– – – – –

The chain of command during the next hour began with Captain Levi’s cold and ended with Petra’s resolve. Together they sat in the middle, Petra following the captain’s perseverance in fighting for composure. She figured that she and his cold were on the same side, but the captain himself was not her ally, cruelly using his devious little tricks to keep from sneezing until after the whole thing had ended and he had a sham of privacy behind the half-closed door of a nearby office.

It was an observation of coincidence, awarded to Petra by her operative diligence. She’d only followed the captain and Commander Smith to the room so that she could ask a question about her faux-review, not to peep on him to see if he’d unknowingly continue to stimulate her private desires.

But he did anyway, and Petra stopped outside the door with her notebook clenched hard enough to leave grip-marks on the margins of her notes.

Two thick, urgent sneezes charged out of him in abrupt succession nearly as soon as he stepped inside: “EGKSH’shu! huh-EKssch!”

Then, a second of full silence preceding the third, fourth, fifth. She heard his voice in the launch of it, messy consonants and hearty vowels, but details were lost to the diminishing volume.

Then, the commander’s voice took over, impressed and easy. “Bless.”

Then, a sixth sneeze, shrouded even further by the cushion of wood and wall between them.

“Bless you. Take this.”

“Thank you,” the captain said. For a long while, he blew his nose in a cycle of long, miserable crackles. There was little ferocity to it, and the whole process seemed inefficient, frustrating and tender.

Poor thing, thought Petra wildly.

“This shitty cold’s going to fuck up the laundry schedule,” Captain Levi said afterward. “nnJSSh’uh! Fuck me. You want these back?”

“I’m sure I can do without them,” the commander said. “You’re getting warm.”

“Don’t…” This time, the stammered, preluding gasp was vocal with desperation, and the sneeze attached to it was crisper as though it had been unsheathed. “hahh’EH-IEhTSHU! Don’t push your luck pawing at my face, then.”

“I’d be surprised if anyone’s ever caught something off of you.”

“Trying to keep it that way. When’re we riding out?”

“I was…” began Commander Smith, and then Petra heard the captain blowing his nose again. The commander waited for him. “I was thinking the day after tomorrow, but I’m delaying departure if you still aren’t feeling well by then.”

“What, you gonna tell the ol’ chief that one of your squad leaders has the sniffles?”

“I’m going to tell him that the chill will put your body at risk for other complications, which would distract your soldiers and put you out of commission. There’s no point in taking a chance like that.”

“He’ll see you for what you are,” Captain Levi replied. “A weirdass mother hen bastard. I’ll shake it in a couple of days.”

“The same thing hit you hard last year,” said Commander Smith. Was that what Hange had been talking about when she said something worse at the start of their meeting? “I promise I’m not trying to give you a day off or humiliate you. It’s only protocol. I’m sure your squad would agree that fair health takes priority.”

Petra heard the threat even in the gentleness of his voice. The captain muffled a cough into something and relented with a topic change.

“The seasons up here are ridiculous,” he said bitterly. “All that fresh air and it still fucks you over.”

Insight and sympathy hit Petra hard in the chest. Only smudges of Captain Levi’s origins were unclassified, but she knew from reading an interview that he was living in the abandoned city underground before enlisting. She remembered him saying that every breath was riddled with filth, and the humid atmosphere came mostly from diseased body heat and no airflow. A big draw of the Surface was the lack of mold spores and bacteria in the air.

It made sense why he liked things so clean, when she thought about it like that, and why he apparently struggled with the cyclical shift from fall to winter. Petra felt ignorant and guilty, and wondered whether the captain’s upbringing had caused any permanent blight to his system.

So guilty, it turned out, that her secrets began to show on her face as her environmental awareness faltered. It gave Hange a chance to startle her and blow up her spot before Petra was ready to interrupt the captain’s brief reprieve with her silly paperwork.

“Petra!” she called, voice close. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

A jumpy wave was all Petra could manage before Hange’s sturdy hand bracketed her shoulder. Just when she’d gotten the little flame to simmer down, too.

“Ooh! Is that your report?” Hange said loudly. Petra lifted up the hand that carried her poor, crushed notebook and slid her thumb along its binding to try and smooth it out, sheepishly grinning with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I just wanted to follow up before I left,” Petra said. She heard another unmistakable sneeze from Captain Levi on the other side of the door, then scrounged up the willpower to focus on the comfort of Hange’s friendly enthusiasm.

“Hey, can I come in with you for your review?” Hange asked, moving her eyes toward the door and back. “I’m curious about your takeaways. I noticed you writing a lot.”

“I probably went overboard,” Petra said. “I’m sure a lot of it will need to be skipped over.”

In what may as well have been a distant universe, Captain Levi sneezed again. Petra ran her mouth in a panic, grasping for words so she wouldn’t have to figure out if saying something about the noise would be suitable for the conversation. It wasn’t like Hange didn’t notice it. Her gaze moved, too.

“I’d like it if you came!” Petra said too excitedly, which made her sound insane. “I mean— I’m sure you have a lot of… You’d probably know the most important parts, it’d be great to have your eye on my stuff, so…”

“Great!” Hange said easily. She knocked on the door and moved it out of the way, looking over her shoulder and beckoning Petra to follow her in. “Hi, bless you! How are you feeling? Y’know, aside from sneezy.”

The word burned through Petra’s cheeks and neck. It didn’t help that Hange had been the one to say it.

“You lost, four eyes?” asked the captain, just as Petra finalized her entrance into the room with a sidestep to make herself visible. He was leaning against an unclaimed desk with his arms crossed, exhausted eyes bearing curiosity as he looked at her. He blinked them down toward the damaged pages in her hand. “Damn it. You’re fast.”

“Oh, not really,” Petra said. She held out the notebook and flipped through it sloppily, displaying the hurried scrawl inside. “I tried to be thorough while we were talking, but I just wanted to make sure I was on the right track before marking down any edits.”

“That is thorough,” agreed the commander, standing primly within arm’s reach of the captain at the edge of the desk. “I trust Captain Levi’s judgment in picking you for Special Operations, but I’d like to take a look at your draft, too, especially since it won’t end up officially filed.”

“He never does that,” Hange said. “Don’t worry, it’s not because of you or anything. He just likes to find reasons to hang around when Levi’s sick.”

Who wouldn’t? thought Petra enviously. Stop, stop, stop it.

“I’m staying too,” Hange added. “It’s a report on my work, after all.”

“Just don’t babble off with your tangents,” The captain outstretched his right hand so Petra could hand the report over. “Let’s see.”

She began walking toward him when he froze, hastily withdrawing his hand as he reached for a square-folded handkerchief resting on the surface next to him, obviously clean and probably ironed. He sneezed before he had the opportunity to unfold it or secure it properly around his face, and the cloth flopped half-open in his rush.

“NJSHH’hh!” He did what he could, though, and curled off to the side. As his breath hitched again, Captain Levi clutched what he could of the rectangle to the space underneath his nose and around his mouth. “NJSSH’ue!”

Carefully, he unfolded the rest of it and cleaned up the consequences. Petra couldn’t see his face, but the brusqueness of his movements and tension in his shoulders indicated some kind of distress. Petra’s hot, curious eyes fell upon Commander Smith’s hand when she politely forced herself to look down and away, and she noticed his broad fingers twitching toward the captain.

“How about I just take this instead,” suggested Hange, gently tugging the notebook from Petra’s tizzied grasp. “Levi will have a mental breakdown if he gets you sick.”

While she may not have entirely minded getting a cold if it came from Captain Levi, the idea of being in such a condition around Oruo and the others was truly horrifying.

“Petra,” Captain Levi said, sniffling as he turned around, handkerchief still hovered around his nose. “How’s your constitution? You get sick this time of year?”

It was a question she and the medical examiner had needed to answer when Petra first enlisted, but truth be told, she wasn’t sure of the truth. Probably fine, she’d told the doctor, and he’d circled the well above average option on the form. Someone later told her that the above average selection was reserved for recruits who were delicate but valuable, and average was a disqualifier. It wasn’t unusual for superiors to ask in private to confirm the truth.

“No, it’s not bad,” she said. “Maybe every few years, but I usually manage to avoid it.”

The captain’s eyebrows moved, but Petra couldn’t parse the meaning of his expression. It didn’t line up; she’d call it desperate if she didn’t know him better. Or annoyed. Or jealous.

Yeah, right.

Then, he said, “How?”

“How…?” she repeated quietly. How what? Was he asking Petra for advice?

“Rest and fluids, most likely,” said the commander. When Petra looked to him, he said, “Minor illness spreads fast, especially among smaller branches like ours. We’re always welcoming new preventative strategies.”

“Poor Levi tries soooo hard, but he always comes down with it,” pouted Hange as she floated a hand to try and patronize him with a pat on the head.

“Some of us could stand to try harder,” he said, swatting her off.

Petra nearly gasped. This was her chance.

“Well…” Petra said, starting slow, “I know you said rations were a concern, but I like to eat specific types of hot food when the temperature drops like this.”

“That’s interesting,” said Commander Smith. “I can put in a budget request if you have any recipes to recommend.”

“Yes!” Petra said, then lowered her voice. “I’ll write them down. I think we have a lot of the ingredients already. It’s mostly soup and protein, but keeping larger pot of water on a heat source works to moisten the air, too. It goes a long way if you’re sensitive to dryness or dust.”

“Sounds like something that could benefit everybody,” the commander said. “I’ll send the documentation out this afternoon.”

Already, visions of the markets in her home neighborhood scrolled behind Petra’s eyes, prompting calculations of root vegetables available this far after the harvest. Proximity to headquarters was important so they’d arrive quickly. Would it be overkill to try and make a salve, or would it embarrass Captain Levi to know she’d asked for ingredients specifically with him in mind?

Hange nudged her out of it.

“Jeez,” she said as she pressed down and grooved her index finger along Petra’s handwriting, “your penmanship isn’t bad, but you really choked the life out of this pen. Almost pressed right through the paper.”

She held the open booklet out so that the captain and commander could both see. They scanned Petra’s work in tandem, but Captain Levi spoke first.

“Your signature is different from your notes,” he said.

Feeling exposed, Petra said, “Oh. Is that bad?”

“The letters don’t connect here, but they’re slanted like they should be. It says you were in a rush,” he continued, then cleared his throat. “Your ink output is also uneven because you moved your pen around while you were talking and rolled it between your fingers. Don’t stress so much and you won’t fidget.”

Petra exhaled. Just an observation, then. Not a criticism. Still intimidating - three points of insight from just a glance? - and an opportunity to improve. Petra stamped his commentary into her head to save for later, just as she’d done with everything else he’d said that week while his voice was so craggy and stuffy and awful.

She didn’t expect trouble for next time, given today’s extenuating circumstances.

“Levi notices thing like that,” Hange said. “Signatures are mostly muscle memory, so it makes sense that it wouldn’t look the same. We type these things up at the end anyway.”

When Hange pulled the report back toward herself, the captain moved to stand near her as the commander went the opposite way behind the desk. The noise of a drawer rolling out was overridden by a stuttered sniffle from the captain and Hange turning a page.

Before he joined them, the commander lifted a blank sheet of paper from the desk and plucked a pen from its holding place in his front pocket.

“Please return this to me directly along with your list, if you aren’t able to finish it before we adjourn,” he said as he handed her the pen. “One shorthand explanation per item will help us avoid audits, but don’t hesitate to include anything you think could be helpful. Accounting can handle the rest.”

Petra brought herself to the desk chair and nodded.

“Got it,” she said, hoping he’d receive her message like she'd received his: The caretakers’ inventory was meant to bypass the captain’s eyes, should he later find his quarters mysteriously stocked with camphor oil and licorice root. “And I won’t bleed ink on the desk this time.”

“We’ll have someone show you how to clean it off if you do,” he said, then joined his two subordinates only a few paces away. Only slightly did he block Petra's view, but he spoke softly enough to modify everyone's attention and keep Petra's focus on her part of their benevolent scheme.

With a steady hand and an indulgent ear, Petra mirrored the commander’s gallant stealth and listened closely for inspiration.

#some day i'll come back to this with like .... proper thoughts but #for now #i need you to know that i specifically came back FOR THIS FIC #i was like by god i havent checked my tumblr in a while or interacted with anything #and then fucking #angel choirs began to sing and a holy light opened up on this fic #PETRA HAVING THE KINK HELP #and every single character just absolutely nailed down to the letter #the dynamics between them all #the dialogue #again you are astounding just everything you do with characters #and how they interact with one another genuinely boggles my mind #THIS MAN #HAS HAD ME IN A CHOKEHOLD FOR SO LONG #and u writing about him its like actually my birthday or something or christmas and my birthday and all the best holidays rolled into 1 #i would have paid real dolalrs for this u dont understand im going insane

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vllergy · 5 months

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Levi nose is very sensitive to dust, if his squad doesn't clean like he wants... his nose will know right away. 👀

#i am ALIVE #im dead #im alive

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vllergy · 5 months

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the sluttiest thing a man can do is lift his collar over his nose to sneeze all over his bare chest

#on god

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vllergy · 5 months

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Commission for @goodlucksnez and a birthday gift for @dr-ground-zero featuring their ocs, Shu and Zip!

Happy bday, Jummi! From Vic and from me as well. You two have some cute characters and I'm happy to have the chance to draw them!

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

#cute cute cuuuute #snz art

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vllergy · 5 months

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ah its my semi-annual return to my own blog where i will reblog not enough things, tell not enough people how good they are at writing, throw 1 fic into the void and then disappear again or not depending on what the hormones decide to do in the brain what a fun and sexy (or unsexy!! who knows!) time for me

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vllergy · 8 months

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emerges from the ether for 5 seconds before vanishing again--i don't post here often i go through phases, the moon has phases i have phases whatever but i've been playing a lot of b@lders g@ate and while i don't think i'll ever feel comfortable writing canon character content (maybe h@lsin??? g@le??? who knows) this one NPC interaction had me by the throat. feat: tw: canon courtesan/sex worker NPC, kink!reader, second person narration since the game is like that, hunky sneezy drow man, honestly a lot of build up for little payoff im sorry idk what happened. i also don't know the word count im useless (dialog is in-game dialogue up until the lil time skip to his room, then it's all me baybbyeee)

The drow is one of the most handsome you’ve ever seen. Not that you expected him to be ugly, of course. The fabled drow twins of Sharress’ Caress are known far and wide for their talents as well as their beauty. Its just, seeing them in person is quite different from sustaining on mere rumor alone. Sorn Orlith, as he introduces himself, is rather muscular for a drow. He stands nearly a good head taller than you with a broad, brazenly defined chest. His outfit is nothing more than a metal cage topped over his heavy shoulders and flared out down his sternum like witch’s fingers, pointing towards an abdomen taut with muscle.

His long skirt rides around his hips but you can still see the shadow of indents against bluish-gray skin there, as if they are inviting you to take a closer look. They likely are. Nothing about his appearance is not meticulously crafted to draw you in. From the slight sheen on his lips that are plush and naturally the color of ripe blueberries, to the way his wintry hair is falls effortlessly back from his face in perfect waves. He is a vision, and yet his eyes are not cold and imperious like you might expect. They’re warm. Inviting. Somehow kind, despite what kind of debauchery goes on in a place like this.

You ask him how he ended up here in the first place. Apparently, the Underdark isn’t kind to male courtesans. Also, he was bored.

“The entirety of drow culture is obsessed with bondage beyond reason. While such activities have their charms, I yearned to reach greater depths.” He gives a dazzling smile. “And there is no society on this planet more laterally, imaginatively and confusingly depraved as that of Baldur’s Gate. Although of late, I do feel I’ve seen everything. Perhaps you’ll show me something new?”

Your throat goes dry.

“I’m…glad you’re happy here,” you manage out.

Sorn laughs, but not unkindly “I’d have to restrain myself far more than any play-bindings do if I worked in another field. This is a place where I can be myself boundlessly.”

His arms widen, emphasizing the violet taut flesh of muscle in his shoulders and biceps. You do your best not to stare.

“There are so many who come to me speaking of a fixation that no one else has ever been able to share with them…” he leans close, “And never will again.

He smells of bergamot and brandy. It’s intoxicating. “A once in a lifetime moment of passion. Every day. What could be better? Don’t you want to try it?”

You do. And he can tell. His grin widens, almost wolfish.

“Trust me, you don’t want to miss my signature Menzoberranzan Love Trick.”

—

With the door to Sorn’s private room shut, you feel a sense of calm overwhelm you. The room is beautiful—long enough to be someone’s home, crystals and plants glowing in every corner, a bed surrounded by flowers, shadows in all the right places. It looks like it was plucked free from the most beautiful parts of the Underdark and brought here to Wyrms Crossing. It feels comforting. Safe.

“Now, are you going to tell me about this little secret of yours? Or would you prefer to keep me in the dark?”

Sorn’s voice startles you and he slips a hand around your waist, nosing at your neck as he comes from behind you. He releases you at the reaction, but doesn’t make a show of it. He’s masterful at what he does. Reading his partner, gauging their comfort level, adjusting and maneuvering as necessary. Your blushing cheeks must give you away because he gives you an encouraging smile instead and reaches for your wrists.

“Come, let us sit first. I find it’s easier to talk like that.”

He leads you to the foot of the bed. The sheets are luxurious, obsidian satin, and the mattress sinks with your weight. He sits close, angling his body towards you, but not so close as to crowd you. Your knees touch. You can see his breath flexing the hardened muscles of his torso and chest as he lingers there, expectant but not impatient. His hands cover yours in your own lap.

“It’s perfectly all right to be nervous,” Sorn continues, “But I assure you, your secret is safe with me. And not only that, it is *treasured*. I meant what I said earlier. There is very little that surprises me these days. Should you present me with something unexpected, I will be noting more than delighted.”

You avoid his eyes, despite how gentle they are. You’ve never said this in front of anyone. But he’s right. Odds are, there are multiple someones in Baldurs Gate who have stranger interests than you. Sorn has likely indulged them all and without complaint. As he said downstairs, he rather enjoys this aspect of his work. Still, your tongue is in knots as you work up the nerve to say it. Your eyes travel up from his chin to his perfectly shaped mouth, the cupids bow of his lips and then finally the long, aquiline shape of his nose. It’s a fine nose. Prominent on his face and somehow as elegant as the rest of him, it captivates your attention for a moment.

When you realize you’ve been staring for a moment too long, the confession rushes out of you in a breath, “Sneezing.”

Your face feels like it might explode from the heat. Sorn blinks. You expect him to laugh, or tell you to leave the room, or some other horrible outcome but instead he merely tilts his head. His hands give yours an assuring squeeze.

“And what about it do you like, my love?”

You lean over with a groan. You truly cannot believe you’re having this conversation—but his warm chuckle sends something fluttering in your chest and you gather the courage to straighten back up again and look him in the eye.

“I’m…not quite sure, I just know I enjoy it,” you say carefully, “And when my partners do it.”

“Mmm,” he says, contemplating, “So you’d like it if I sneezed for you then?”

Your lips purse, holding the answer hostage in your throat. You nod helplessly instead. He laughs again and releases one of his hands to brush a knuckle along your cheek.

“Look how red you are, it’s positively darling. Was that all, little bird? That was what you were so afraid to tell me?”

You nod again, nearly in tears. It’s off your chest now and it feels incredible, but it’s also freeing in a way that makes you feel raw and exposed. He’s being so kind about it that you’re not quite sure how to react. Emotions clash together, warring for dominance inside the confines of your skull.

Sorn seems to understand immediately. His hand skirts below your jaw and tips your chin up as he leans forward and captures your lips with his own. It’s a simple, nearly chaste kiss. So featherlight and innocent that it feels like the sun peeking through the clouds. “Shh, shhh,” he soothes as he pulls away, “I think it’s wonderful. I will say it’s the first time I’ve encountered it, but I think it’s quite endearing.” He pulls away a little further, leaving you breathless. His white smile gleams. “And what an exciting challenge besides!”

He releases you fully and stands from the bed, his hands on his hips. He looks about the room, brow furrowed in concentration. You’re still a little dazed from the kiss, wondering how he manages to taste like brandy and sweetwine and smell as good as he does while also trying to get your brain to stop swimming. You blink a few times to get your bearings as Sorn stalks to one of his shelves.

“Now, the only trouble is—“ he starts as he rifles through a few things, “There isn’t much that makes me sneeze, I’m afraid.”

Your stomach wilts a bit. Perhaps it was too much to hope that this strapping drow would have a terrible allergy to lavender. Though, to be fair, he hardly looks like the type to be beset by anything so pedestrian. Sorn is so maddeningly put together. From his perfect hair, meticulous ensemble and finely crafted expressions, he is clearly a man that keeps up appearances. Decorum is important to him. Should he ever be laid low by an allergy, you imagine he would fight it with the all the dignity and stoicism he so proudly displayed.

Still—you didn’t work up all this nerve just to get here and *not* have anticipated something like this happening. Shyly, you let your fingers linger over the vial in your pocket.

“I…may have something that will help,” you say.

Sorn turns from the shelf with what looks like a raven feather in his hand, his eyes bright. He looks positively delighted at the news.

“Oh I love when my clients come prepared,” he says, “You are a dream.”

“We could try that first, though,” you say, gesturing to the feather. There’s definitely something to that idea and it’s already stirring a feeling in your belly that has you shifting on the bed and your heart rising. There’s no possible way Sorn can know this, but somehow you sense he does, because his eyes sharpen their focus on you and his grin goes syrupy.

“Lovely,” he comments and returns to your side. As he sinks back into the mattress, he gestures a hand. “Is here all right? Or would you like to do it somewhere else?”

“Here is fine,” you choke out. The idea that this is happening, really happening, is making your brain turn to lightning. You can hardly wait.

He holds out the feather to you, “I assume you’d like to do the honors?”

You nod. The feather has little weight to it, and it’s gorgeous up close. The black shimmers with hues of purples and blues in the low light, glimmering in the reflection of your eyes. You run your eyes along the length of it and then find yourself starting at Sorn again, heart in your throat.

“Is it… all right if I touch you?” you ask. You lean forward, hand with the feather outstretched, but think you may need to position yourself a little closer and brace yourself on his shoulder to get a good angle.

“Darling,” he laughs. He suddenly seizes your wrist and brings you closer, lowering his voice near your ear. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You gulp as he slides back, demure and innocent as if he hadn’t just made goosebumps appear along your arms and thighs with his words alone. A nervous smile paints your lips and you do finally take his shoulder in your hand. You’re kneeling almost into his lap at this point and to support you, he draws an arm around your back. It’s so intimate you’re almost dizzy with the closeness alone, and you haven’t even gotten to—

The feather brushes at the corner of his mouth and his mouth twitches in a smile. Even just that response alone makes your heart race. From there, you slowly move it up to the indent above his mouth, and then his septum. He wrinkles his nose, skin avoiding the stimulation on instinct before he wrests his control back. He smiles but says nothing, allowing you to continue.

You draw the tip of the feather around one nostril. It quivers in response, but otherwise, Sorn’s eyes remained focused on you. You test a bit farther, drawing slow, soft circles. There isn’t anything for a few seconds, and then he starts to blink, irritated tears prickling in his eyes. He sniffs a few times and then has to cough, politely turning his head away on instinct as he does so. “Apologies,” he says and then grins, “What a strange sensation.”

“Are you all right?” you ask.

“Very much so,” he nods, “Please, continue.”

You do, but to mixed results. You’re certainly irritating his nasal passages, but sadly not enough to make him sneeze. After a few minutes of attempting, all you’ve really done is making him cough and cry irritated tears. Disappointed, you’re about to give up when he takes your wrist again, holding the feather inside his nose.

“W-wait,” he says, “I had it for but a moment.”

Your heart stutters. Carefully, you twist the feather as you had been a moment earlier. His eyelashes, pale as new fallen snow, sweep his cheeks and a breath catches on the roof of his mouth. The hand that was around your wrist falls slack, fingers drifting down towards your elbow.

“Yes, I feel it,” he whispers.

His grip around your back tightens and he draws in another breath. His eyebrows crumple and hoist upwards and his nose practically twitches.

“Hh—hiiyh—“

As his expression snaps, you pull the feather away just in time. His head wrenches away as the sneeze whisks through him.

“Hi-ISSHh!”

It’s a spartan, nearly soft sound. Wet, given the amount of torture his nose has been put through for the last few unproductive minutes, but otherwise without frills or embellishments. It’s a very honest sneeze you think, but perhaps one he was not entirely prepared for. By his clenched teeth you think he might have held back at the last moment out of some sense of propriety. The way he lightly touches the backs of his knuckles to the underside of his nose in the aftermath and gives a delicate sniff further enforces your theory.

Still, it was a sight.

“Blessings,” you say, enraptured.

Sorn recovers quickly and smiles at you.

“Did you—snf—enjoy that? I am sorry it took so long.”

Your red cheeks are enough of a glowing recommendation, but you nod anyway. Feeling a little braver, and a little desperate for him now that you’ve seen him lose control the once, your hand slips down against his abdomen. The warm skin there flexes against your palm as he breathes in. He hums a soft noise of approval and clasps his hand over yours before leaning in to kiss you. There’s just the briefest moisture in the kiss, only you would ever notice it, and it sets your brain on fire.

“Perhaps we should try your method instead,” he suggests when he pulls away for a breath, kissing a line across your jaw and to your throat next, “It might be more…productive.”

You feel dizzy. His hand skirts along your thigh and meets the joint of your hip, squeezing with enough pressure to make you moan.

“If you’re sure,” you say, “It can be…strong.” It’s only fair to warn him, after all. Everyone reacts differently, but you’ve never not seen it work on someone.

“All the better,” he hums against the hollow of your throat, nipping softly at the skin, “I simply won’t have you leaving here disappointed.”

You shift upwards to get access to your pocket. Sorn discards the sodden feather and watches with curious, eager eyes. When you reveal the tiny glass vial, he smirks.

“I see,” is all he says before nodding his head toward the collection of pillows at the head of the bed, “Let’s get more comfortable first, shall we?”

Moments later, you’re lying side by side, both propped up by pillows and surrounded by the soft glowing plants and crystals that make a canopy of the bed. Sorn holds himself up on an elbow and examines the vial that looks comically small in his much larger fingers. You lay your cheek against one of the pillows and stare up at him, still feeling your heartbeat pound in your ears. You’d thought this would have gotten easier after seeing it happen once, but the idea of seeing it happen again is almost worst. Now that you know the sound, know how his lip curls a little, how his eyes flutter—all you want to do is see it more, see him unravel.

“So, just a pinch of this?” Sorn asks. He seems more curious than anything. Like he doesn’t quite totally believe that whatever is in there is actually going to be able to make him sneeze.

“Mhmhm,” you say.

He grins and sets to work. A hefty pinch between his thumb and forefinger is gathered and then quickly—and in a rather sophisticated manner—snorted up one nostril. It doesn’t seem to cause him any harm like you worried it might, and he merely clears his throat once it’s over and brushes his hands off.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” he comments, “Almost medicinal.”

You can’t answer him because you can’t breathe. You’re waiting for something. Anything. A flicker of his expression, a quiver of his nose, something to indicate that the powder is set to work. But nothing happens. Sorn merely looks back at you questioningly.

“When does it start to take effect?” he asks.

“Usually right away.”

He frowns, “Oh. Perhaps I should take more?”

You saw the amount he took. It was already sizable. Any more and you’d be concerned for him. You quickly shake your head, “No, I wouldn’t. Maybe it’s just…slow to start.”

Sorn huffs, his disappointment mirroring your own. He sets the vial aside and turns back to you, pulling you flush against his body. That’s still nice, sneezing or no. Every hard angle of him presses against you and the heat of his skin makes you shudder. He kisses you deeply and you can still smell the slightly earthy scent of the powder on him as you return it.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he murmurs close to your mouth, “I’ve done nothing but disappoint you tonight.”

You blink up at him, “That’s not true!”

He sighs and tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “It is, but I promise you, I will make it up to you. We still have plenty of time, and there are other things we can do, besides.”

Sorn dips an arm under you and pulls you flat against the bed, hovering over you. He grins down at you and starts to remove your top.

“Is this alright?” he asks softly.

You nod, nearly choking on your want for him. Everywhere he uncovers bare skin, he lavishes in kisses until you’re bare from the waist up and the two of you are flesh against flesh. His skin sears yours with warmth. He trails fingers down your sternum and then down to your bellybutton, then lower.

“You are a delightful little thing,” he says. His voice is velvet, and his warm breath paints down your ribs as he follows the path of his hand.

You feel the gasp as much as you hear it. It’s a sudden, reckless thing—so quick that neither of you are prepared for it. Sorn’s expression flinches for just a moment and he barely has time to turn his head to the side before a sneeze completely overtakes him—misting your side in the process. “hh-EDSHHH’iuh!”

You’re stunned. Sorn looks like he might be too, if not for the telltale signs of another impending sneeze close behind the first. He shifts and places a hand on your hip as he sits up a little. You watch as his upper lip curls over bright teeth and his nostrils flare once before he wrenches away from you successfully this time. “hhHH’RRSCCH!” This one is stronger than the last, more voice to it. It shakes him and you by extension on the mattress.

“Bless you,” you say, but he shakes his head. His hand squeezes your hip gently as if to say ‘not yet’. “Hih-ih!”

His fist goes to his mouth before you can stop it, and he squelches the last sneeze into submission. His eyes cinch shut and he bends at the waist, shoulders trembling as the colossal sound is contained to nothing more than a whisper. “hHh-nGXST!”

He opens his eyes, though somewhat warily. As if he’s not sure the tickle is quite gone yet. He gives a cagey sniffle and blots his knuckle under his nostrils, “Goodness.” Then, he turns to you and finds your gaze positively enraptured. He smiles.

“I suppose it does work ah-after all!” He rubs at the tip of his nose for a moment and then flutters his eyes, “I do hope you’re ready for more because it seh—seems…”

Your hand goes to his chest. You feel the swell of his breath deepen, the warm feeling of his skin moving under your fingers. Sorn seems to get the idea because his palm reaches up to cover yours. His fingers wrap around your palm as his breath continues to snag. You catch his eyes just for a moment before they slide back.

“hHH’RRSCh’euh!” He trembles under your touch with the force of it. He lifts his head just barely, eyebrows canted desperately, and then pitches downwards again, spraying your arm with abandon. “hh’AEEShhh’ah!”

“Such a tickle,” he says breathily as he recovers. He gives a wet sniffle and smiles at you, but it’s hazy, the look in his eyes already distracted by the mounting itch. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. If anything, he’s enjoying the newness of the sensation. The break from monotony.

His nostrils flare and he releases his hand to rub his knuckle against his septum once more.

You feel a little bold for asking, “Are you all right?”

He nods, smiling. He tries to hold your eyes but the tickle steals his concentration once more.

“Quite!Just—hh…sn’tsCHh’eeze-hhHH! H’RRSHC’hu!”

You reach your other hand up to stroke through his hair and turn him a little more towards you as he prepares for another. He resists at first out of instinct alone, but adjusts in the moment it takes for the sneeze to have its way with him. As his breath snaps, he ducks his head in the space between you and releases it into your lap. “hh”hRRRASsh’chu!”

“Bless you,” you say, smoothing back his hair. You crawl into his lap and he welcomes you without hesitation, securing your thighs around his hips even as his head tilts back for two more with barely a breath in between. He ducks them between the two of you but there isn’t much space. His hands clench against your thighs with each outburst. “hh-eHH’SCCHE’uh! h’RRSH’ue!”

Blearily, he looks up. He’s dazed. Sniffly. His cheeks are indigo and the area around his nostrils is too. You kiss him, because he just looks so stupidly *kissable* and he murmurs a laugh against your mouth.

“It is quite comforting thatyou find me attractive in such a state,” he sniffs once you pull away.

“Very attractive,” you remind him.

He smiles, and continues smiling even as his expression flickers again. “Ah, one-hh more perhaps,” he says. He raises a hand in front of his face and a rather tired sounding sneeze ripples through him. “hH’EDShh!”

“Bless you.”

“I don’t thhhink I’ve ever snhheezed so much in my life-hh!” He leans his forehead onto your shoulder and does away with using his hand to cover, opting to simply hold onto your hips and let the sensation take him. “hh’UEHDSHH’iu!” You stroke his bare back and feel his ribs expand beneath your fingers before tightening twice in quick succession. “hh’NGXT! nG’ssT!”

He clears his throat after and lifts his head back up, adjusting you on his lap. “Ah, I should have asked, do you prefer if I hold them in or let them out? Often I don’t know which it will be until it happens but… perhaps I could try…try to—”

His eyes roll and he turns his head, giving you a clear view of his twitching profile. “If I could juhhst get through a sehh’ESsch!—sentence!”

“I don’t mind either way, I just don’t want you to hurt yourself if you hold them in,” you say to try and spare him.

“Oh, darling, it takes much more than that to hurt me,” he wriggles his nose handsomely and turns back to you with a devilish grin. His eyebrows raise. “And lo! A full sentence! The effects must be wearing off.” He sniffs experimentally and for the first time, his eyes don’t get hazy in the aftermath.

You feel disappointment sink your heart like a stone. It was bound to wear off eventually. But before you can even lament the course of events, he pats your thigh and shifts you off his lap.

“Come, where’s the vial?”

You blink. Surely he doesn’t want to do more of that?

He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking because he taps the bottom of your chin and winks.

“Oh, we’re far from finished, love. Ready for round two?”

#snzblr #snz kink #snz fic #i didn't proofread this and i probably wont until way too late and that's on me #i dont actually even like this but something in me had me at gunpoint until i posted it #anyway this stupid game is fun #idk if i'll write more for it #but this man demanded to be written #HOPE YOU ARE ALL WELL #SORRY IM NEVER HERE I LITERALLY GO FROM 0 to 100 IN TERMS OF MOOD #but this week the dogs be barkin

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